2

Matthew Renault flopped down in the plush leather cushions of his office chair and blew out a long breath.

How could his grandfather do this to Lana—to him even? He ran an angry hand through his close cropped, jet black hair, disheveling it into wild spikes. When Tom retired, his grandfather assured him that Lana would be promoted to CEO. So it had been a shock to him when his name had been announced instead.

Right after Lana stormed out, he’d pulled Gerard Renault aside for an explanation.

“What was that about? You told me Ms. Holt was going to be promoted,” he’d accused.

His grandfather had shrugged his stocky shoulders and the lines of his face had deepened when he’d spoken. He at least he had the decency

to appear remorseful. “I wanted to promote her, but the Board refused to

support her bid for CEO. They were really uncomfortable with having someone from outside the family in the position again. I had no choice but to appoint you. I’m sorry Matthew.”

“It’s not me you should be apologizing to,” he’d whispered angrily before spinning on his heels to follow Lana.

He leaned back in his chair and stared out across Midtown Atlanta, his eyes vacant. Lana didn’t deserve this. She had devoted herself to Renault Corp, and this was her thanks? If he’d been her he would have quit too.

He glanced down at the card in his hand, twisting it between his fingers. She’d given it to him and told him to call her if he had any questions. A small grin flashed across his face. He had a question—

would she have dinner with him Friday night? That had been the main question he’d wanted to ask her since he’d first laid eyes on the voluptuous older woman two years ago.

He remembered their first meeting like it was yesterday. She’d been wearing a form fitting white turtle neck Cashmere dress that hugged her gorgeous figure down to her knees, where it teased the tops of her spike heeled leather black boots. The soft white hue of the dress had complimented the warm tones of her rich, chocolate complexion. Her shoulder length hair had been pulled back into a severe bun and she’d worn standard wire rimmed glasses that obscured her beautiful almond shaped brown eyes.

She’d shaken his hand with a cool authority and he’d been smitten ever since. No matter how hard he tried to invite her to lunch or engage her in small talk, she had always remained polite, but aloof—the epitome of professionalism. Everyone called her the Ice Bitch if they were nice,

worse if they weren’t. But he sensed beneath her chilly exterior was a

warm and sensual woman who she worked very hard to hide, and it was that woman he wanted to discover. He wanted to get to know the real Lana Holt, not the one she showed to the rest of the world.

He stared at the ten digits she’d hastily scrawled on the back of the card. What would she do if he called her and asked her out? Or better yet showed up on her doorstep with an invitation to dinner? He knew the answer to both of those questions. She would give him a cool, but polite, no.

If he wanted to get to know Lana more intimately then he was going to have to come up with something far better than a phone call or a visit.

A thought popped into his head and he sat up, ramrod straight, in his chair. It was a long shot, a crazy idea even. He curled his lips up into a smile and glanced back down at the card. Crazy idea or not, he was fresh out of options. He shot up from his chair and bounded out of his office just in time to see the doors to the elevator close with Lana inside. His smile grew wider. Perfect timing.